


Pulse

by Puimoo



Series: No True Pair responses [2]
Category: Angel Sanctuary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puimoo/pseuds/Puimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uriel is maybe a little bit selfish, but that's all right.  It's something other people have a habit of benefiting from, especially Katou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse

Hate, Uriel finds, is an emotion that is easy to work with. Fear is edged with too many things – anger and rebellion and a desire for something more – but hate? Hate consumes like a fire, blazing all other emotions into ash. Hate, Uriel thinks as he gathers together favours as though they are simply another batch of deadly herbs, is unrelentingly honest.

Although it doesn't tend to get you invited to all that many dinner parties.

He knows he's pushing boundaries now that are far too taut already, and there are consequences to be had that are stretching his roots in this world ( _his_ world, he reminds himself as he runs his hands up cold, slim hips, skims magic across the flat plans of a stomach that is weaving into existence beneath his fingertips). But Uriel has always tried to twist this world ( _his_ world) so that it best suits his selfish little pleasures. That this one is getting him into just as much trouble as his last is worth contemplating, however not for long.

He is learning how to sculpture this body much more efficiently, what with how familiar he is becoming with the curve of his lips and the shape of his jaw. Uriel leans in against the still form, nodding to himself that this time he has caught his exact scent in all its vagueness and hints of musk.

“Breathe, Yue,” he murmurs invitingly against Katou's ear, one hand still splayed across the boy's chest. Tightly clenched eyes flirt with opening, and then Yue is gasping in harsh, painful breaths, arching up from the stone altar as spasms shock his new body into an approximation of life. Uriel holds him down, even as a scream torn from Katou's throat sends something ethereal shuddering down Uriel's spine. When Yue finally sags it as if all his bones have been ground into dust, leaving behind a limp shell that folds too easily against Uriel's chest.

There are little things that Uriel doesn't always get right, but Yue's eyes, his hypnotic, shattered eyes-

“Uriel-sama,” Yue grinds out, barely a whisper, barely a voice. There is confusion there, anger and rebellion and a desire for something more that is so palpable that Uriel knows, if ever he dares taste it, will doom him even further. But, there is no hate. There never is. “Uriel-sama,” Katou echoes again, dangerous quiet as a shaky hand knots in the fabric of Uriel's jacket. “Why the _fuck_ am I naked?”

If this is going to continue (and given that the boy is one big button of self destruction that even Uriel is helpless against pushing), he is going to have to explain the finer points of regeneration to Yue.

“Sleep, you silly child,” Uriel says instead, because now is not the time for philosophy, not when Uriel is still quietly massaging each breath into Yue's lungs. A protest forms on Yue's lips - for what is this boy if not a protest manifested? - but then his hand is slipping away from Uriel's shirt, and his head rolls in against Uriel chest.

Uriel frowns.

This … is troubling. This is venturing far away from fear and relief into something that Uriel does not wish to define, not when he knows the cost of such a thing.

“It would be easier if you hated me like everyone else,” he says, lowering Yue gently back down onto the altar. “For both of us.”

Yue grunts in his sleep, rolling over onto his side and muttering something foul under his breath. It's all Uriel can do to keep from slapping him over the head.

How droll.

“Stay with him until he wakes,” he says to Doll as he leaves, back to his frayed-at-the-edges world where he is less a babysitter and more the arch angel he supposes himself to be.

At least here, there is no further he can fall.


End file.
